Three Kisses

The sun streamed brightly through the windows, and under regular circumstances I would feel jolly and enlivened by the warmth of the rays. Most people despise Mondays, but I exclude myself from the herd that shares a feeling of resentment regarding a guiltless day. Mornings bring about a feeling of crankiness among most, but for me, it appeals to my soul like the sweet decadent aroma of a chocolate mousse cake. I confront my Mondays, mornings and Monday mornings just like any other day: I would wake up with a feeling of undying hope and blind optimism for an eventful and successful day ahead of me. Some people have called me foolish for being such a gleeful positivist, but in the world where I live in—a world of callous corporatism and crab mentality—I have brought it upon myself to bring sunshine to mazes of mundane office cubicles and day-old coffee. I have gained quite a few so-called enemies due to my cheery disposition, but I brush away their thoughts as quickly as their criticisms come. I am unfazed by arrows and knives that only seek to taint my identity rather than constructively challenge me to become better.

I felt ready to take on the world with much enthusiasm, if it were not for the migraine that was plaguing my thoughts and disconcerting my senses at every moment I try to do something productive. I was not the type to get sick easily and frequently, but unfortunately I am going through one of those circumstances which entail me to stay in bed all day and indulge in a soft diet. A soft diet, for me, is like facing the Sahara Desert with little or no food; I do not mean to sound ungrateful with whatever food I have on my plate, but I would strongly prefer anything other than soup as a source of sustenance.

It took great effort to reach for my phone on the bedside table. I had to call in sick, and I think my boss could effectively manage without me following him like he is a mother hen.

“Good morning, Vicky.”

“Scarlett, you sound dreadful. You’ve come down with the flu, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sadly I have. Would you mind taking on my responsibilities for today? I promise it’s only today. Everything you need is on my desk calendar, and if you need assurance my planner has everything in it. You name it, it’s all there: contacts, cases that need to be perused and filed, emails that need to be replied to, restaurants, shops, and Mr. Hiddleston’s favorite lunches. I know it’s overwhelming, but just add it to my pile of I-owe-you’s.” My tone sounded desperate and compounded with my nasal voice, I was literally a cry for help.

“Oh don’t be silly, dear. I’ve seen you work, and I am far from impressed—in fact, I admire you for your work, and I’m sure I would be hardly needed by Timothy. Nevertheless, I’ll see to it that all your obligations are taken cared of. Now, get off this phone and rest all day.” She sounded like my mother, and I had to smile at her gentle, scolding tone.

“Thank you so much, Vicky. I probably owe you a whole year’s worth of lunches.”

She laughed. “As much as I would love to contest to that, I’d rather not. The idea of food is appealing, although it need not be free. Your company is enough to pay for my kindness.”

Thank heavens for Vicky. “I cannot thank you enough, Vicky. Good bye.”

“Good bye, dear. Rest well and perhaps we could have lunch together tomorrow.”

“Yes we shall.”

Vicky Romero is a darling, little old woman who has been employed in Hiddleston, Richards & Lane for nearly thirty years. She was no lowly secretary for she has been revered and regarded with respect by the founders of the law firm. It amazes me how she has refused any sort of promotion, since I have seen first-hand that she has been content with her position and has not explicitly stated any ambition in climbing the corporate ladder. I empathized with her, and so I knew why she did not seek any more than what she has now: she was generously paid, has a house in the Eastgate Compound, and her three sons have been granted scholarships by companies closely allied to Hiddleston, Richards & Lane. She had a roof over her head, more than friendly companions and a stable job. What more could she ask for?